


The Misadventures of Adam Milligan

by PetrichorPerfume



Series: The Misadventures of Adam Milligan [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Protective Adam Milligan, SPN Fluff Bingo, Sad Michael, Sick Michael, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24554518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: When Michael falls sick, Adam sings him to sleep.The first in a series written for SPN Fluff Bingo 2020. Mostly crack and fluff.Featuring: much cuteness, a sassy Adam, and Michael, who is clearly above such things as the common cold, except that he isn't really.
Relationships: Michael/Adam Milligan
Series: The Misadventures of Adam Milligan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774720
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	The Misadventures of Adam Milligan

**Author's Note:**

> Um don’t get *too* excited but this may or may not be a spin-offs of “Shenanigans.” 
> 
> I am participating in the SPN Fluff Bingo 2020. I'm a bit late to the party, but such is life. 
> 
> I am hoping this will make readers smile in these turbulent times.

There was one truth in life Adam Milligan held as an example to all the other various truths he’d encountered – one shining example of what a truth should be that he often paraded at the front of his mind so all other truths might take heed.

And that truth was this: archangels were horny motherfuckers and never – and he meant never – turned down sex and in fact often went out of their way to hump, grind against, or otherwise dominate various inanimate things in pursuit of this goal, most namely trees. (Adam wasn’t sure what it was about trees that made Michael lose a considerable percentage of what was already a dubious amount of self-control.)

But there Michael was, at the edge of their bed, wearing his ridiculous pajama pants with the singing sharks on them, wearing nothing else but a thin, raggedy shirt and what Adam wasn’t sure he could call a pout to Michael’s face and live to tell about it.

Adam, on the other hand, was completely, gloriously naked. He’d assembled himself in an alluring position, but Michael was having none of it.

His perfect truth once more paraded across his field of vision, only this time it was wearing stupid shark pajama pants and sticking its tongue out at him. Adam briefly regretted using it as a paragon of truths, but then he shook his head and frowned at his mate.

“Are you alright?”

Michael swayed on his feet a little bit as he all but toppled into bed beside Adam.

“Don’t feel good,” Michael snuffled. “’m shaky and I can’t breathe right.”

“Maybe it’s just a cold.”

Michael fixed him with a glare strong enough to bend steel, melt iron, and level cities. “I am an archangel of the Lord, I am absolute in my will and it’s beneath me to get something so pedestrian as a common cold.” Any other time, Adam would be quaking, but Michael looked so miserable in his ratty shirt and silly bottoms that he couldn’t help but smile.

Then Michael sneezed, face scrunching up in an adorable little grimace that Adam thought to be exceedingly charming. “Right,” he said, “let me get this straight.” He began to mime note-taking on his hand. “Archangel of the Lord…” A flourish of his invisible pen. “Will is absolute.” He pretended to turn the page. “And nothing so pesky as a common cold, am I right?”

“Don’t mock me,” Michael sniffled. “’m sick.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Adam said, then sighed. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll make you nice and comfy and sing you to sleep.”

“You would?” Michael’s eyes went wide.

Adam gave him a sly look in return. “That is what the shark pajamas mean, isn’t it? You only wear them when you’re feeling down. Or, in this case, sick.”

Michael shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe.”

Adam rose from the bed, considered for a moment his nakedness and tugged his boxers back on before making his way to the other side of the room.

“Where ‘re you going?” Michael said through a stuffy nose. There should be a law, Adam reflected, that made it a criminal offense for his husband/lover/friendly neighborhood archangel to sound so freaking cute.

“Shh, you’ll see,” Adam soothed. A moment later, the lights flickered off.

Michael made a small sound of appreciation. There was still moonlight filtering through the window, so Adam was able to make his way past the various clothes Michael must have strewn about earlier when looking for his shark pajamas without tripping. (How he always managed to misplace the things when he was so ridiculously fond of them, Adam might never know.)

Adam made a show of lifting the blankets and giving Michael a generous share, then smoothing it out over him and tucking it in all around him.

Then he sat down on the bed next to Michael and began to sing.

_Swing low, sweet chariot_

_Comin' for to carry me home_

_Swing low, sweet chariot_

_Comin' for to carry me home_

_I looked over Jordan and what did I see_

_Comin' for to carry me home_

_A band of angels comin' after me_

_Comin' for to carry me home_

The song wore on, and slowly but surely Michael began to drift off to sleep.

Adam listened to the last note echo in the room, and the sweet, snuffling sounds Michael was making.

Perhaps, he thought as he climbed onto his side of the bed, the love he and Michael shared was the only truth he really needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more of The Misadventures of Adam Milligan.


End file.
